


Human Sex

by cereal



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how he knows that Rose Tyler has six types of orgasms and they are all absolutely brilliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Sex

It's not that he makes an effort to be more human about sex, it's that he _is_ human now, human enough anyway, and human sex, he's found, is something of a dominant force. 

The Time Lord impulses he has when it comes to this particular act -- or series of acts --  are recessive, easily trampled, tossed aside in a flurry of hormones and sweat and filthy, wonderful words. 

He can't maintain distance, can't be objective or analytical or carefully detached when his entire body is wrapped around just one heart, and that one heart is pumping all his blood to his cock.

There's something to be said for it though, for human sex, a whole host of mostly positive things, and he says them often -- whispered in Rose's ear, growled into Rose's neck, panted to the ceiling as Rose does something clever with her mouth. 

Things like _wet_ and _hot_ and _tight_ , things like _don't stop_ and _please_ and _fuck_ and _now_. 

And Rose likes those things, and he likes that Rose likes them, and they're human and they're together and it's _amazing_ , but sometimes, afterwards, those little bits of Time Lord creep back in. 

Those bits, they itch to classify, to compartmentalize, to look at that human sex and strip it down to its elements -- even if he can't be objective about those. 

This is how he knows that Rose Tyler has six types of orgasms and they are all absolutely brilliant.

There's the first kind, the regular, everyday, ordinary orgasm, except there's nothing ordinary about it. This is the way Rose comes most frequently though, a steady build to a dependable climax.

She's vocal, she's shuddering, she's happy and sated and lovely in the aftermath. Sometimes it's words and sometimes it's noises, sometimes she pulls his hair and sometimes she bites his shoulder, but the basics, they remain the same, and he _loves_ them. 

The second kind is usually the second time (or the third). That is to say -- the way she comes when she's already come. There can still be urgency, still be a sense of striving and want and _now, now, now_ , but it's different somehow. Not necessarily more work, not really ever work at all, but still, he never trips into this kind of orgasm, never lands her there on accident, a lucky brush of his hand where she happens to need it most.

If the first is freely given, the second is proudly earned, and as much as he likes gifts, sometimes he like achieving things, especially when he's achieved Rose Tyler sweating and panting beneath him. 

The third, well, if there's a more polarizing orgasm, he can't name it. Because this one, this third one, it's not about coming at all. Sometimes it's a small thing and sometimes it's a big thing, but it is always, always about something more than sex.

This is an orgasm in anger, a fight that's not over yet, and adrenaline still high. This is an orgasm in sorrow, comfort in each other's arms when the ugly, inevitable parts of humanity roar once again. It's an expression of their love, of hope, a celebration of joy, and a reminder they're alive, it's feelings and emotions and it's the two of them _together_ more than it's the two of them coming. He likes this third type, but it's not for the everyday, and that suits them both just fine.

The fourth type of orgasm Rose Tyler has is the kind she gives to herself. He'd love to be able to say it's tiny, quiet, that it's nothing like the orgasms he gives her, but that would be a lie -- it's not lesser, it's just different. And, frankly, he's best pleased that she lets him see it.

If anything, watching four, a few months after Bad Wolf Bay, in a haze of wine and late night conversation, has helped him get her to the other numbers more than a few times. Rose's fingers on Rose's clit and he'd do well to study up. He's human now, sure, but he'll never know what it feels like for her, for any woman, and the next best thing is the road she travels when she's the one driving. 

On the other hand, there's five. Five is the kind Rose can't give herself, because five comes on the tip of his tongue. And the flat of his tongue. And the wet, rhythmic, push-pull-slide-lap of his tongue. If the others number would kindly cover their ears, five might be his favorite. Because it's not just five itself, it's the lead up, the aftermath, from point A to point Z and everything in between.

It's the way she tastes, the way her hips stutter and arch, her hands in his hair and his hands on her thighs, the noises, the breathy, needy, _loud_ noises, and the way sometimes the noises are words, _fuck more god fuck_ , and her back off the bed like a shot when she comes. She wants to be closer, she wants to be farther, squirming and tugging and panting and _smiling_.

That bit, too, he loves that bit -- the smiling, the laughing, the incredulous love and awe, and the way his face looks the same, he can feel it. 

The last one, the sixth one, it's elusive, for sure. He's seen it, of course he's seen it, he's magnificent, skilled, occasionally humble, but six, oh, _six_. Such a delicate balance to coax a six out.

Fingers, lips, tongue, cock, everything in its place and everything at the right time. Heads and hearts, too, because a six is _more_ than the sum of its parts, a six is the holy grail, the magic bullet, a force, an orbit, and both of them caught in its wake.

It goes on forever, it spreads and warms and glows, the whole of human poetry wrapped up in a single orgasm, and he understands, Rose has made him understand, and whatever he's done and whatever he'll do, he doesn't deserve it, but she does, and he's the lucky bastard along for the ride. 

(It's not that he makes an effort to be more human about sex, it's that Rose Tyler has six types of orgasms, and he's never going to miss another one.)

* * *


End file.
